History's Future
by PinChajta
Summary: Starting from where Sylar tricked Claire in to seeing him on campus and the infamous kiss against her will...lingering non-con...continuing on to the future, without the "true" season finale
1. Taking what you want

"If you're not going to contribute, I'll just have to take the answers from your head." Sylar stalked closer to Claire, who was at the time immobilized on the small couch.

"You gonna slice my head open again?" Claire questioned, looking down her nose at the tall dark figure now poised at her knees.

"I've evolved way beyond that. Our friend Lydia gave me a much more precise instrument," Sylar knelt over Claire's still body, perching himself above her by the back of the couch, not yet touching her. "She could read someone." Closer. "Just by touching them. See into the very depths of their soul. Course her methods were a little hyper-erotic but…oh, what the hell?" Sylar stroked her face and she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "It is college, isn't it?" Bringing her disgusted face to his, he began kissing her.

Claire was panting, being manipulated into being held back.

It was moments like this that Sylar completely _loved_ his abilities because his ritually sadistic side could just _take_ what it wanted. But was it not his powers that were holding him from being human? From obtaining happiness and living forever alone?

The two sides of Sylar were waging a war for his future. The human side wanted to release Claire, beg for her forgiveness and attempt at having some sort of relationship—whether it be love-hate or just acquaintances—so that he wouldn't have to be alone. He could have Claire. The monster side of him wanted to fuck her senseless so that she realized that he was all she really had. Everything that she knew was going to die and eventually return to the Earth. He didn't want her to hate him anymore.

The human side started losing.

Sylar closed the gap between their bodies and slowly shifted his weight on top of her. Her sounds of struggle were intermingled with what _sounded_ like moans, but he couldn't be sure—he kept his telekinetic control over her. For now.

With one hand wrapped behind her neck, the other snuck in between the couch and her body. His large hand fit snugly on her hip, pulling her into his own lean hips.

_That_ definitely was a moan from her.

A primal growl from the monster emerged from a deep place within his chest. Paying close attention to his ministrations on her lips, he felt them becoming more pliable, more accepting. She was kissing back like the college co-ed she was supposed to be. Maybe she was putting aside the idea that he was crazed and realizing that she hadn't been kissed this well in a while. His kisses were deep and unforgiving, craving to taste her.

Sylar pulled away momentarily to find Claire's face flushed, breath panting, and lips swollen. She looked like she had already been fucked—he knew now that he wanted to be the one that made her look like this. Dropping his one control against her, he moved in again to kiss her.

Sylar held his breath as he realized she wasn't going to fight it, nor looked disgusted as she first had. If he only had Parkman's power to read her mind at the moment he would love to know whether she wanted him.

Tilting up her own chin, on her own accord, Claire slid her lips across his. She brought her own tongue out to play with his and he hungrily devoured it. With her own body under her own control now, she was slowly grinding against Sylar's hip snuggly fit between her own.

The fucking little minx! How could she have seriously wanted him now, or ever? Sylar thought to himself as he consumed her warm, willing mouth. Tongues sliding against each other, Sylar was receiving delicious messages of what Claire wanted—all thanks to Lydia's newly acquired ability.

Groaning at what she was transmitting, he saw them entangled in her dorm room, struggling to dispose of as many articles of clothing on the small twin bed.

Her mewling through her kisses weren't helping what he was feeling either.

Yes, he wanted to fuck her then and there—make passer-bys question the noises coming from the room they were currently occupying. Yes, he wanted to taste her skin, her pussy—to fuck that gorgeous mouth that always sneered at him. Yes, he wanted to be able to do this at any time for the next few hundred years with merely a mutual glance between them.

Sylar's human side was winning over. Truly doubting himself and thinking that he may lose this, lose Claire to an indeterminate future without any human connection, he pulled away from Claire's bruised lips.

She looked like he had already fucked her. Dear God, what was he thinking.

"Thanks for that…" he simply replied and got off of her, holding her down with his power.

Somehow knowing that he would get this chance again, he relished in the fact that he was the one who caused this reaction in her—that his powers weren't necessary to have her writhing beneath him.


	2. Sacrificing what you need

It wasn't fair.

The war against the specials had started and Claire had chosen her side, of course. There were two sides to the specials—the ones that wanted to destroy humans that didn't understand them and destroy other specials that didn't follow them. The other side was protecting humans, believing themselves to still being equal and were going to fight for their right to be happy with humans.

Samuel, of course, led the beginning assaults. Peter and Claire led the defense for the humans. Claire didn't know what was worse: that humans finally knew about their powers, or that Noah had lost his enduring battle against specials.

It was two years after Samuel had unleashed his destructive power on that innocent town, killing 2,000 people. Sylar had come in to play at that time and helped free Noah and Claire under the rubble. Noah decidedly went into hiding, knowing that this was a battle he could never win. Samuel could have killed Noah that night if it wasn't for Sylar. Claire had broken down that night in the trailer and was actually relieved to see Sylar, thanking him gently as she said her goodbyes to her adoptive father.

Noah caught the next flight to Australia, quickly moving inland away from large masses of people, in case Samuel were to ever find him again. But he did. Or at least one of his family members did.

This guy sure was special; he could control the weather. The small ranch house that Noah had hid himself in didn't stand a chance once this guy hit it with a bolt of lightning. The ranch house went quickly up in flames…with Noah inside.

Claire had tried for weeks to reach Noah, but to no avail. It was Parkman who had found the news report on an online Australian news feed. Claire had crumbled in Parkman's arms and cried herself to sleep on his couch.

Presently, Claire was placing a deep pink rose on her father's grave a moment before it was lowered into the earth. Even though the coffin was empty, that wasn't the point. Going to Sandra, her adoptive mother, Claire gave her a fervent hug and next on to her brother, Lyle. He was trying to be tough but was about to break any moment.

Claire returned to her uncle's side. Peter immediately found her hand and held it tightly. As soon as the cemetery workers began to cover the coffin with dirt, Peter pulled Claire toward the chauffeured car they had taken here, Angela already waiting inside. Before she sat in next to Peter, off in the distance in the tree line stood a dark figure.

Sylar.

Locking gazes and giving him a thankful nod one last time, Claire slid in next to Peter and drove off.

Sylar hadn't been trying very hard to track down Samuel and kill him, but now…

Seeing Claire broken and angry he made it his responsibility that Samuel would die by his hands, especially if that meant Claire might be killed if she tried herself. After everyone left Noah's gravesite, he approached it cautiously. Silly, the man wasn't even in there.

Sighing to himself, looking down at the gravestone, reading:

Noah Gabriel Bennet

February 18 1960-September 8 2012

Devoted and Loving Father

Sylar scoffed to the stone, "Gabriel, huh? I guess we had more in common then I thought." After acquiring the enhanced memory of Charlie, Sylar slowly whispered from the Hebrew Bible, "Even the man Gabriel, whom I had seen in the vision at the beginning, touched me in my severe exhaustion, about the time of the evening sacrifice…"

Samuel was going to be his last victim.


	3. Redeeming what you have

Tracking down Samuel was a bitch, but with the help of Claire's compass (that of which he sufficiently _stole_ from her small apartment in Washington) he had to make the journey over a landscape he didn't recognize. Thinking to himself sardonically, maybe someone had an ability with a built-in GPS. Yes, he did have the ability to track down specials, but someone at the carnival was blocking any detection from humans and specials alike.

It was dark and he was soaring over hills, somewhere in God knows where. In the distance Sylar noticed red and yellow twinkling lights. "Got you fucker."

Landing behind a large tent, hopefully hidden by the darkness, Sylar took a moment to revise his game plan. He didn't want to harm any other specials; he had grown fond of many of them while he was here with the mindset of Nathan Petrelli. Ironically, that was when he felt most human: surrounded by "family" and children. He had told stories to the children, ranging from four years of age to seventeen. Even the teenagers still seemed to be interested in his stories. Funny, though, his stories weren't his but rather of "his" childhood with Peter—especially the story of when Peter thought he could fly and attempted jumping off the roof of a building in New York.

Now he wanted to destroy this family's father figure. Well, Sylar had done it before. He killed Nathan Petrelli. He also left his own pathetic father to die. But now with Noah dead, it felt to Sylar as if the sins of the father had to be redeemed. Sylar would end Samuel's life so that Noah's life of protecting Claire had not been spent in vain.

Now Sylar was casually walking around the tent, not caring who saw him or if Samuel had been alerted of his presence. Samuel wouldn't try anything with so many specials around—he needed them. And my, hadn't he collected quite a few in the last couple of years. Sylar remembered there being about 40 or 50 specials—now there was close to 200 people staring at him, watching his moves, plenty not knowing what sort of threat he posed.

Finding a small girl, probably about seven years old, he walked right up to her and bent to talk to her directly, "Hello little one," giving her a sugary smile, "Do you know where I can find Samuel?" She simply lifted a hand, pointing to a spot behind Sylar's back. Before standing, he turned, finding Samuel standing in the alley of tents, along with many others.

Samuel opened his arms wide, "Welcome back Sylar. Or is it Gabriel now?" He strode in smoothly to Sylar and hugged him warmly. Sylar didn't budge. Holding him affectionately by his shoulders, Samuel gave him a quick once-over, "You look hungry. Why don't you join me in my trailer—we can catch up." He was speaking loudly enough so his family could hear every word.

Sylar simply tilted his head and slowly gave him what seemed like a true smile, simply stating, "Sure."

Once Samuel escorted him through his trailer door, Sylar had the older man's throat clenched in his hand. The carnie struggled, staring straight into Sylar's soul attempting to speak his innocence and his goal of collecting specials, ahem, creating a family.

"I'm not going to listen to your words, you manipulative fuck. You control these innocent _people_ with your filthy words, making them believe anything you want—much like Bennet's attack on them years ago—yeah, I know about that. Took you awhile to find him, didn't it?"

Samuel tried to speak hoarsely, but Sylar shook him to silence. "My apologies, but you don't get to speak."

Sylar studied him for a moment. His blood vessels were turning a harsh red, his eyes bloodshot, the skin of his hands clinging to Sylar's arm turning cold. Sylar only had to squeeze a little harder and the old man would be out.

"I know you know why I'm here. I'm not joining your sick fucking sideshow because you know I'm the strongest special of them all. I could make you move the tectonic plates if I stuck around long enough," Sylar tilted his head, eyes turning black, "No, I'm here for revenge. And what's so profound about it is that I'm not using a single power to take you down. Your _family_ is going to find your limp body in a few minutes—what's too bad is that you never found a special with healing powers—those are pretty rare."

Sylar didn't know how much Samuel was hearing now because his eyes were twitching and his lungs were seizing. "You will never get the chance to hurt Claire again."

Tighter.

Tighter.

Stillness.

20 more seconds for good measure.

Stumbling out of the trailer, leaving Samuel for the dirt that he would return to and so lovingly controlled, Sylar soared up into the sky back towards Washington.


	4. Giving what you can

Maybe he should let Claire know that he had just killed Samuel. Maybe it seemed too desperate to win her over.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. Sylar paced on the roof of her apartment building. Well, Noah's apartment building. She had made it her responsibility to pack up his belongings, along with the help of Lauren, to officially destroy what he had been doing and searching for—The Sullivan Brothers' Carnival. That was over two years ago. Now Claire just slept on the couch of the bare apartment.

Never bothering to finish with her schooling, Claire and Peter had taken it upon themselves to lead "the good fight". But there wasn't much of a fight because they didn't have the resources to ever find Samuel, especially by himself, to catch him before he destroyed any more small towns. Over the last two years, he destroyed over 14 towns and killed well over 20,000 people. Besides that, his minions had decidedly taken their own route here and there and killed who they wished, perfecting their skill set.

Parkman and Peter had intercepted a few over the years. Matt was able to find a few due to picking up on their trains of thought when they were getting close. Peter always tried to keep Claire's power, just to be safe.

Now, Sylar huffed to himself thinking to leave his obsession—Claire—alone for now. He rose and flew off towards New York.

Peter Petrelli never really slept deeply anymore. Rolling over, not quite asleep, his arm slid over Emma's midriff. Thankfully, she sleeps heavily.

A shadow flashed through the room and Peter sat up immediately, scanning the darkness of the apartment. A figure darted into the kitchen and Peter got up, following quickly.

Bending over an open refrigerator door, Sylar is scanning the contents of a near-empty cooling unit. "What are you doing here?" Peter asked, none too nicely.

"Keep your voice down, you'll wake up your lady," Sylar responded, standing with a Chinese food carton in hand.

Peter simply crossed his arms, knowing that this may take a while, "She's deaf, remember?"

Sylar scoffed as he begins searching for chopsticks through the many of drawers in the kitchen, "That's right. How is Emily?"

"Emma."

"Emma…still playing the cello?" Aha! Chopsticks.

"No." Peter walked forward and grabbed the box of food from Sylar's hand, throwing it quickly in the garbage.

"Hey, I was eating that," glaring at Peter.

"It was about a week old," Peter shook his head, "Tell me again why you're here."

"Samuel."

"Samuel?" Peter looked up at Sylar from a tilted head. "What about Samuel?"

"What is this: 20 questions?"

"Sylar, I'm not doing this at three o'clock in the morning when you've been MIA for near two years."

Sylar looked faux-wounded, "I haven't been MIA."

"Well, then at least answer this: where the hell have you been?"

Sylar took this moment to get comfortable on the counter, "I've been watching over Noah, once I found out where he was. I honed my flying skills getting over the Pacific. Learned how to go faster." Peter gave him a roll of the eyes, obviously not wanting to hear his successes in flying, "Anyways, I was watching over him, shape-shifted into a friendly ranch hand—but he never let me in too close. He was always very private and I gave him that. One day a special showed up, taunted Bennet with his weather-manipulating skills. There was nowhere for him to run—we were out in the middle of fucking nowhere. As you know, Bennet burned in the house when the special hit the house with lightning…"

"Why didn't you try to help?"

"The special killed me first. Struck me with lightning and killed Bennet before I could do anything about it."

There was a long pause. Sylar shifted in his spot and Peter sighed heavily. "So what's this about Samuel?"

Sylar stared at the tiles, trying to figure out the pattern that the colors made, "I killed him."

Peter's arms dropped to his sides, "What?!"

Catching each other's gazes, Sylar stated again, "I killed him. Just found him _finally_ after a few months of looking. The fucker was _impossible_ to find." Sylar was silent for a moment, contemplating, "The family is still there though—a lot of them. And they're not going to know what to do with themselves. Their leader's gone."

Peter interjected, "A lot of them went rouge though, the ones that thought they had to teach normals about our existence."

Probably rolling over and finding that Peter wasn't in bed next to her, Emma strolled in to the kitchen where Peter stood with another man. She recognized him, but it took her a moment to realize that it was the man that saved her from the carnival. Gently touching Peter's shoulder he turned, surprised, "Emma, I'm sorry," he spoke into her gaze, "Do you remember Sylar from the carnival?"

"Yes, of course. Hello, how are you?" She spoke as best she could and signed at the same time, half out of habit and half out of hope that he knew ASL.

Sylar took this moment to be a gentleman and stood, "I'm doing well, and yourself?"

"Great, but I'm wondering what is going on?" Emma said looking from Sylar to Peter.

"Sylar came to inform me that he just took out Samuel…" Peter registered her expression: it was a mix of relief and panic.

"What about all those children? All the other people?" Emma voiced her concern.

"That's what we were discussing," Peter motioned between himself and Sylar who was back in the 'fridge.

Peter held Emma close as they both watched Sylar find something to eat. Next he pulled out a carton of orange juice, opened it. Smelled it. Shrugged slightly to himself and downed it.

Once he was finished, Sylar continued, "Yes, the carnival. That's the other reason why I'm here. I'm not necessarily the responsible type—I only look out for number one, not two hundred."

"No, Sylar. I know where you're going with this. I can't! I've been tracking these people down, taking them out. They're going to tear me apart if I walk in there telling them that I'm Samuel's replacement."

"That's why I'm here," and Sylar held out his hand, offering all of his coveted powers to the man that would have done anything to see him dead two years ago, pummeling him with tools and fists, "you'll be unstoppable."


	5. Doing what you must

There was a knock at the door. Claire sat up quickly on Noah's couch, groaning at the continuous knocking.

"Coming!" she yelled towards the door, then mumbled to herself, "Geez, who in the world…" Opening the door to Peter and Sylar caused her to stop. Completely.

Staring blankly at Sylar, he actually shifted uncomfortably where he was standing. Breaking the awkwardness, Peter slid into her apartment listlessly stating, "Claire, quit it. You know we need him."

Sylar still hadn't moved from standing in Claire's doorway. Speaking towards Sylar, she answered Peter, "We don't need him." Peter's vision shook for a brief moment. Odd.

The taller man actually gave her a small, sad smile, tucking his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, feeling unwanted and trying _hard_ not to show that to her.

Peter spoke to Claire's back, "Sylar tried to save Noah. He was actually watching over him the last two years."

"What?!" Claire whirled towards Peter, bitingly. Sylar took this moment to slip into the apartment as well. Claire looked sharply at him, "You're not welcome here."

Sylar spoke to Peter now, "That shaking Pete, means someone is lying."

"Duly noted."

Taking Claire's vacated spot on the couch, still warm from her sleeping, Sylar spoke, "Claire, I'm not here to upset you. Rather I want to give you my deepest condolences…"

"Stop it," she bit out sharply, still hurting after Noah's death—not necessarily attributing to the hunt for rogue specials for the last few months.

Peter walked up to her, closing the door gently for her, guiding her towards a chair in the dining set. They took this time to explain everything that had happened in the last couple of years, and especially Sylar's aid along the way, and what happened last night with Samuel.

"He's still gone though," Referring to Noah, Claire said quietly to herself, staring at the wood of the table in front of her, "And how am I supposed to trust him, Pete?" She turned to Sylar, standing and walking gently up to him, and inch away from his soul, speaking softly to him, "Do you think that watching over my dad, _attempting_ to save him, and now killing Samuel…is this going to compensate for everything you've _done_? Is this your redemption?"

Sylar didn't answer. He just stared at her, noticing the hatred burning in her eyes, abhorring that that emotion was fully directed at him.

Noticing that time was ticking by, literally, Peter spoke up, "Claire, I have to get going. I have to find the carnival and try to mend what Samuel destroyed."

At this, Claire held out her hand to Sylar, "Give me the compass."

"How did you know?" He smirked at this, reaching into his pocket, placing the old compass in her hand.

"A girl is allowed her secrets." Sylar chuckled at this as Claire handed Peter the compass, "Please, be careful Peter," giving her uncle a strong hug. Peter kissed her cheek quickly and left. "Go with him Sylar, 'cause you aren't staying here."

"Do you have any food?" He asked, moving into the kitchen, ignoring her statement.

Claire sighed deeply to herself, plopping back down on the couch, curling up on her side, "Just please don't eat my leftover Chinese. That's my lunch."

His head inside the 'fridge, Sylar stated more to himself, "Wouldn't think of it." He pulled out a giant carton of vanilla yogurt, relatively new, found a spoon and hitched himself against the counter top, eating it contently, "So Claire, what have you been doing with yourself?"

Claire frowned inwardly at his normalcy and said instead into the cushions, "Shut up. Need sleep."

Sylar took his time polishing off the yogurt and went on to eating her rocky road ice cream with the same spoon. After he was finished, he went over to Claire on the couch, finding that she was soundly asleep.

Smiling softly to himself, Sylar left her apartment, "Sweet dreams, cheerleader."


	6. Needing what you take

Most of the carnival people were innocent—mostly young children afraid of their powers and adults with nowhere else to go. There was a handful left that followed Samuel's ideals about coming out and began targeting humans. The remaining Petrelli was strongly against the whole "coming out" party because he knew that society wasn't ready for it.

That's where Peter and Claire fought the most. Since the night at the carnival, saving Emma, Samuel escaping and rounding people up again, Claire had wanted to come out. She had longed for normalcy and above all acceptance. That fateful night, Peter had used his power from afar; allowing Claire to climb to the top of the carousel but eventually gave her a slight telekinetic nudge that sent her scrambling for the nearest crossbeam. With a little luck, he managed to climb up quickly enough to talk her down.

He had been latched to the ladder, facing a Claire who had the blinking beam beneath her armpits. "Claire, don't do this. It's going to change everything."

She had hissed in his face, "That's what I want! I can't stand hiding who I truly am anymore!" Tears began to blind her vision. She had slipped and Peter grabbed for her falling form quickly enough to grasp her forearm, popping and straining his shoulder uncomfortably. "Let go of me Peter!"

"I'm sorry Claire, I can't do that," Peter had grunted through the pain, feeling his body healing from Claire's transferred power, "It's not just about you. There are too many people that need to stay in hiding."

Getting a good stare down, literally, from Peter, Claire had huffed through her emotional break. She had seized the ladder below Peter's feet and began her descent. She had stormed passed the camera crews as Noah cleaned up her mess.

Now, Peter was stooped on a hill outside of the carnival, contemplating his next move.

XXX

Claire only had two more weeks at school and was becoming quite irritated.

Why?

Because Sylar insisted on being outside of every one of her classes. Today was no different.

She was exiting the Counseling and Psychology building when she noticed him leaning against the back of a bench, facing away from her, arms crossed. The young blonde woman approached his figure, stating, "Don't you have anything better to do?"

He stood up, feigning surprise, "Oh, funny seeing you here. What a coincidence, huh?"

"God, not only are you a serial killer but you're also a professional stalker."

"If I was a professional stalker, you wouldn't know I was stalking you."

Claire rolled her eyes and began walking across the quad. Sylar followed her like a puppy. She fiddled with the strap of her shoulder bag as she spoke, "Why don't you go find some other college coed to bother. Never mind, you're too old for them anyway."

"I actually don't truly know how old I am."

A confused look crossed Claire's face but she didn't give Sylar the courtesy to acknowledge him by looking at him, "How could you not know? What year were you born?"

"Well, technically, I was born in '76…"

"Which would make you 35…"

"Yes, but after acquiring your power, I stopped aging—which was about six years ago."

"Making you permanently about 29."

"Precisely." Claire finally looked at him, and he gave her a blinding smile.

She stopped to look up at him, "Tell me why you're here Sylar."

He shrugged to himself, "I've been here the last couple of weeks "stalking" you just to bug the hell out of you," and he had actually used air quotes, which caused Claire to smirk slightly, "and to help you."

"And how are you supposed to help me?"

"You're in the middle of finals and I have one hell of a memory."

XXX

Claire actually took Sylar up on his offer and now she was planted on her couch, listing off psychology theories—her major—to Sylar. He was currently pacing, absorbing everything she was reading off—his ability from Charlie categorizing and filing the information into an unfathomable format in his head.

The theories were covering how to help troubled youth to broken marriages to dating psychology. She had to memorize the names of the people exploring the current theories out there of _why_ people do what they do.

After a few hours of reading and reviewing with the man in front of her, Claire closed her textbook and arched her back, popping it effectively. Sylar winced at her, "Oh, sounds like you need a good rub down," his eyebrows wiggling once.

Claire glared at him, "No. I don't want one. I heal, remember?"

Sylar's vision jerked. "Liar. And I know you're not lying about the healing part."

Claire sagged at the aspect of a nice massage, "That would be really nice," then she shook her head vehemently, "No, that would so wrong on so many levels!"

There was something unreadable about the eyes of the man standing in front of her in the living room of her barren apartment. Then, "because you know you'll enjoy it?" His voice was much too low for her liking.

At the depth of his suggestion, Claire shot up and walked into the kitchen, disposing of dishes and mugs that had long since been used for snacks during their study session. While placing the dishes gently in the sink, one crashed sharply to the bottom as warm, large hands clenched wonderfully at the base of her neck. She dismissed the idea that wearing her current shirt was a problem but the feeling of skin on skin caused her eyes to close.

"See?" His arrogant, deep voice was much to close to her ear. "Now would you like to lay down on the couch or are you going to lie to me again?"

She turned obediently and to her surprise, on her own will. Not daring to see the look on his face, she lay immediately down on the couch. Feeling Sylar stand above her, she no longer felt the threat of his presence as it would have five or six years ago. The weight on the couch shifted as he placed his knees on either side of her hips, relaxing on his haunches.

His hands went immediately to work, moving from her shoulders to her scapulas to the ridges down her spine. When he reached just above her sacrum, she couldn't help the small moan that escaped her lips into the pillow below her. Sylar froze for a second but continued his ministrations, now with a smirk adorning his face.

More than ten minutes passed before Sylar dared himself to slide his hands under her shirt. He felt her stiffen for a brief moment but relaxed as he applied more pressure. As he felt her breathing deepen with relaxation, his strokes and pressure changed to soft, feathery touches. He couldn't help himself as he licked his lips, loving the feel of her immensely soft skin. Sylar dared himself once more, inching his fingers around the curve of her belly, pleased with himself as she jerked violently, squeeling.

"Sylar! I'm ticklish!"

"I can see that," he chuckled to himself and continued to torture her from beneath him.

Somehow, she managed to buck around so hard, laughing crazily, and pivoted herself to be completely on her back underneath Sylar. He stopped, panting from laughing with her. She was red in the face and smilingly witlessly.

As their breathing subsided, Claire smirked wickedly at him, "Are you ticklish Sylar?" Her hands began to creep out from underneath her, threateningly.

Sylar caught her wrists in his hands, wildly smiling at her, "No."

"Ha! Liar. And I don't need an ability to tell me that."

Claire meekly struggled against him, but this only caused him laugh more at her futile attempts, "Sorry Claire, you're not going to win."

Claire stopped moving immediately, playing dead, "Yeah, you're right." Sylar knew better and didn't let go of her wrists.

Suddenly Claire yanked her wrists free, going right for his midriff. In a matter of moments, everything changed.

Sylar attempted to pull his lower body away from her hungry hands as he held them tightly to her sides on the plush couch. With that smooth move, Sylar had her pinned from head to toe, arms at her sides, face to face. "No fair," he growled at her and immediately went to raspberry her neck.

Claire was instantly in a fit of giggles as she attempted to arch away from him. No use. He raspberried her neck one more time for good measure.

As her laughing subsided, Sylar chuckled deeply to himself in the crook of her neck. God, she smelled good. Going on impulse, the next thing he knew he was nuzzling behind her ear into her hairline.

His nuzzling soon turned into gentle brushes of his lips. Claire moaned lightly and naturally stretched her neck out for more access.

His brushes soon turned into kisses, which found him grinding down into her center. Letting go of her wrists finally, his hands weaved through her hair, turning her head to bring his lips crashing down on to hers. She was more than willing this time. Moaning her consent, their tongues battled for more than mutual want.


End file.
